“Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice.
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