Sir John saw it, and was flattered. No need to do such things. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. . Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels.
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