They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats.
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