Both of them. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. ‘But a spy I am not. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. He embraced her like her father once had. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly.
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