But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. At table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. 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. I get your side all right. I tell you—never mind the bill. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats.
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