“I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. 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. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. It wasn’t pretty. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. He was there concealed, waiting her return.
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