What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. She was quite unconcerned. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. ‘Kill him? Oh. D. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. .
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