"If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. The plank hung over his head. CHAPTER XXIV. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again.
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