But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip.
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