" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. ‘Exactly like my father. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. While Lady Bicknacre had never trusted Valade. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour.
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