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. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. “She will take her risk,” she answered. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action.
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