How could he have betrayed her so cruelly? How could he lie and claim her as dead? Sebastian studied her carefully as she refused to cry and became like a pillar of stone. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner.
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