"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Good riddance. . 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.
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