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. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister. “Really,” she said. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?” “You have been wrapped up in your politics,” she murmured.
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