That was supposed to be Madame Valade. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. He knew what he knew. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. “Vee,” she said, “come home.
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