It was from Brendon. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. ” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. " "Well, it's mighty fine of you to break your journey in this fashion—for someone you don't know, a passer-by. .
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