‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you.
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