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. To work then he went, and with wonderful industry filed off two of the iron bars. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. “A claim,” he continued, “which I am quite prepared to recognize. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. She struggled against it quite uselessly. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her.
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