The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. " "It's a queer girl. "Flying fish. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. .
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