Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. She felt his tongue press into her mouth. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so.
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