That was supposed to be Madame Valade. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. You are greatly altered. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there.
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