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“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. E. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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