His tone was rough, almost threatening. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly; "and, I repeat, Bedlam's too good for her. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. “I’ve never been prone to them. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement.
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