‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “They make me want to shout,” said Mr. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. She's not for pleasure, but for work. I find you an impenetrable enigma. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats.
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