One group at the door attracted Jack's attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances—Mr. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger.
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