Instead of which they walked sharply. I went to her rooms to-night. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. That was supposed to be Madame Valade.
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