The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. The worst was over now. Better to remain silent. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. Maggot.
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