‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. A bad man, in fact. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire.
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