’ Her gaze followed the butler, who was moving towards the door. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. He stood before her. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed.
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