He let go of the girl’s arm. 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. For a space he rode the whirligig. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work.
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