She didn’t know anything more about your mom. The boy would naturally attract the women, if the women were at all romantic. Winifred pointed to the door. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. It filled her with indefinable fear.
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