‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry.
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