It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Their conversation became stilted. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. From other obscure hints dropped by the speakers, Mrs. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMS44MCAtIDE0LTA3LTIwMjQgMDM6Mjg6MTAgLSAxODczNjI0MTgx
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