Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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