He smiled complacently. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. Oh, cuss it!” “Eh?” “He said I would. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound.
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