She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. ’ The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. She shook her head. He described her privately to himself as a splendid girl. She turned her head away sharply. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. The Wastrel did not relish this.
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