He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. 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. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels.
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