” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. ‘Imbecile. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning.
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