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But Gerald kept to a casual note. CHAPTER XIII. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. . She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. He inspected the formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the register. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly.
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