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. ‘I have justice. "He knows he had to take it. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress.
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