What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. Then she reverted to the trousers. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. The truth at once flashed across his mind. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. You have misunderstood.
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