He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. "Now stand before me, Poll. He drew a little breath and stepped back. “Put her in the trunk. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. Such was the terror inspired by Wild's vindictive character, that few durst face him who had given him cause for displeasure.
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