“Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Pipes were lighted; and Mr.
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