Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. I've some other things inside, Sir, which you might wish to buy,—some pistols.
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