‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. ” “Six pounds. ” She took a step. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor.
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