Her father was right: Ruth must never know. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. I’d need to be out of my senses. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air.
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