‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Clergymen were human. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. If she’s over, he probably knows all about it.
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