To return. He chuckled. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Spurling, half aside. 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.
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