But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. There is no poison that would affect her. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently.
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