She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. ‘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.
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