Well, it had to happen somewhen. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats.
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