I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. She left for good after he fell asleep. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. "Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. It’s artificially chance. .
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