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. " "Caught you napping, eh?" rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. "Allow me to assist you, Sir James," said Hogarth. One transgression; he was sure of that. Wild," edged in Quilt. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support.
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