Barring that the Valade fellow had sneaked back. But though the shot took effect, as was evident from the stains on the ground, the villain escaped. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. There was no one to be seen. Manning. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly.
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