“This is all madness,” she declared wearily. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "Not my king's," returned Wood. “Oh goody. If she returns to the house from which we took her, her companions will laugh at her and smother her with ridicule. 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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