She had never heard anything so unholy. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. ’ Madame Valade reseated herself, and Gerald set himself to flatter her into relaxation again. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke.
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