Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Martha had not been pleased to find her spare one borrowed for that expedition when the major had found her outside the ballroom. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. “Further than that, I am amazed that you should dare to allude to those few moments, to that single moment of folly. \"Thank you. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again.
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