They are their mother’s sons. "One-and-twenty, ah!" repeated Gay. ‘This is not love, Marthe. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him.
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