Lost me place, that’s all. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. ’ Captain Roding looked frowningly from one to the other. . Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame.
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