The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘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. ‘No, you don’t. “I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. CHAPTER XXVII.
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