After Capes had finished the Scotchman’s troubles he went back into the preparation-room. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns.
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