She repeated this breathlessly. “Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. Arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up.
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