‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. I believe I’m in love. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites.
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