“Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. ’ ‘That is not your affair.
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