He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. He hated himself a little for it. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
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