Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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