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Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. He did not have to. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. There was just time for the girl to raise her arm to chest height and draw it back before Roding seized her. "To-morrow it will be mine. You're in luck to-night, widow.
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