She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. 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. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout.
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