In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. The boy’s besotted. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. That’s what I mean. Sheppard.
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