‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “I am sure of it. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. He'd have enough to do to protect himself, without attending to you. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly.
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