He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. And then suddenly—a relief. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows.
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