“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. The will to live had returned. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night.
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