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He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.
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