A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. Except for a few early ebullitions of passion, natural to a warm and romantic disposition, and leaving no harmful after-effects—ebullitions that by the standards of the higher truth I feel no one can justly cast a stone at, and of which I for one am by no means ashamed—I come to you a pure and unencumbered man. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. He even hugged her a few times, something he had never done.
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