“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. She washed her face twice after making smudgy eyeshadow and lipstick errors. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. It was still possible the child might be in safety. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul.
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