He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. He had seldom been more perturbed.
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