" The Wastrel laughed. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. " Aware apparently in some degree, of the mistake she had committed, the poor maniac sprang towards him with frantic violence, and planted her long nails in his cheek.
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