Rowland," she added, in an altered tone, "I am certain I shall not live many days. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged.
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