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. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you.
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