Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. She let out a delighted laugh. "I've done no more than my duty, Mrs. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true.
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