” That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. It’s an emerald. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully.
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