I know what I am doing better than you do. . She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. 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. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek.
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