“I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. For a while he threatened her. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “Damned Rascal!” he said.
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