“Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. . He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. "An American. I’ve wanted you—always. Give me the keys and the light. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. Oh God! pardon me.
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