She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ‘I have said that I will tell you nothing of this soi-disant Valade. Has he not himself taken my daggers and my pistol and my knife? Alors, he has given me back my pistol and one dagger,’ she conceded conscientiously, ‘which is a very good thing. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam.
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