Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. For a long time neither spoke again. He became a little less en garde. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. Which is also puzzling. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. He, therefore, desires to interrogate him. ‘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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