The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking.
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