“There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air.
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