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. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. "You've won your wager. “Lord!” she said. I'll have to put some pep into the game— American pep.
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