" "Aliva Trenchard!" exclaimed Mrs. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. . ‘Precisely. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard.
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