” She stared hard at her finger-nails. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French.
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