It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. The last that is known of Monsieur Charvill is when he departed the Valade estate. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said.
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