‘Valade, if you don’t mind. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. ‘How happy for you that Valade came to take you away from France,’ he said encouragingly, adding with one of those intimate looks, ‘Happy for me, too. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it.
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