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. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. Several people in the crowd seemed to be fighting. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. I did it in self-defence.
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