She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. Of a certainty, she also was imbecile. White. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me.
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