But I dare not accept it. I can’t help you a cent. On the way home he was still thoughtful. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Now that I recall, it probably wasn’t the best source for engineering plans. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious.
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