The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. The door opened, and a slightly overweight pretty blonde, an older, wiser version of Michelle, came into view. "I never saw the like of you! One has to guard one's actions constantly in this wicked world, if one is a woman, young and pretty.
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