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. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. He had something across his knees. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. "Suppose he does.
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