She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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