His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. Ann Veronica was excited and puzzled, with a sense of a strange and disconcerting new light breaking over her relations with Ramage. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. And so she came upon the word Love.
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