‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. Then he sensed the trap. Wild's figure. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.
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