Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. ” “Yes.
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