‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. ’ Hilary stared at him. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness.
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