A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know.
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