It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. She felt like a dried-up old woman. It’s not far from twilight. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice.
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