Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. “We must go. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt.
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