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Updated: June 5, 2025
'I say, Valmont, how long do you expect to be on this job? 'What job? I asked mildly. 'Oh, you know what I mean: the Summertrees affair. 'Oh, that! I exclaimed, with surprise. 'The Summertrees case is already completed, of course.
All the 'proofs' and apologetic arguments ruin the work unfortunately, the eloquence and dialectics of Rousseau, Diderot, Helvetius, Holbach, and even Voltaire, differing very much from those of Abbé Gérard. It is the same with the libertines' reasons refuted by the father of the Comte de Valmont. It must be a very dangerous thing to bring forward mischievous doctrines with so much force.
'Because, Monsieur Valmont, it did not belong to you; because you do not belong to Scotland Yard; because you stole it; because you had no right to it; and because you have no official standing in this country. If it had been in Mr.
'But which is it? There's a vast difference. 'He takes a good many, sir. 'How many? 'I don't just know, sir. 'That's easily found out, Valmont, cried Hale, with some impatience, 'if you think it really important. 'I think it so important that I'm going back with Podgers myself. You can take me into the house, I suppose, when you return? 'Oh, yes, sir.
The best thing the poor fellow can do is to reform his ways, and he does not fail to neglect doing this at nearly every volume. "The seventh volume of the edition which I have before me is entitled, La Théorie du Bonheur; ou, L' Art de se rendre Heureux mis a la Portée de tous les Hommes, faisant Suite ait 'Comte de Valmont, Paris Bossange, 1801, eleventh edition.
Although you are a more recent arrival, if I may say so, than myself, you nevertheless already give utterance to sentiments which do honour to England. It is your duty to hunt down the criminal. Very well. In that I think I can aid you, and thus have taken the liberty of requesting your attendance here this morning. Let me fill your glass again, Monsieur Valmont. 'No more, I beg of you, Mr.
I took him from his prison one midnight, and gave him a bed in my Soho room, taking care in bringing him away that he would never recognise the place where he had been incarcerated. In my dealings with him I had always been that old man, Paul Ducharme. Next morning I said to him: 'You spoke of Eugène Valmont. I have learned that he lives in London, and I advise you to call upon him.
But besides M. Eugène Valmont, dressed in elegant attire as if he were still a boulevardier of Paris, occupier of the top floor in the Imperial Flats, there was another Frenchman in London to whom I must introduce you, namely, Professor Paul Ducharme, who occupied a squalid back room in the cheapest and most undesirable quarter of Soho.
It could only be compared to those imaginary edifices of which we have all read in childhood's happy days in taking text, under an attractive picture: "The castle of M. de Valmont was agreeably situated at the summit of a pretty hill."
With a smile he handed it to me. 'You will make my apologies to Mr. Gibbes for not returning it before. Tell him I have been unusually busy of late. 'I shall not fail to do so, said I, with a bow. 'Thanks so much. Good-morning, Monsieur Valmont. 'Good-morning, Mr. Innis, And so I returned the packet to Mr.
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