She turned there and beckoned. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. She has not been accused of any crime.
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