" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. He knew it absolutely, as if he had the check in his hand. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best.
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