She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. Anna made things for her.
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