Did you grow up at the Valade estates? You were born a Valade, I take it, even though your father is English. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. Wood obeyed. His hands came up, his face broke apart. “Yes. ” He replied. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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