The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. So these two young philosophers got along very well that day; and the succeeding days.
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