. . "I'm glad to find I'm right. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. We're lost. You have watched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out upon the canvas, and besides, we have been companions. 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.
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