Wild," implored the turnkeys. “Are you with us?” said the tired woman. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. . Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking.
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