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 only borrowed it. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. She was trembling a little. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face.
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