There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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