I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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