Never mind. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you.
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