The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. “Even if he lives here you may go all your life and never come face to face with him again. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. I did not even know where to write and thank you. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade.
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