He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. 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. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. His lips were tight drawn.
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