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. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. “Now here hath been dawning another blue day; I’m just a poor woman, please take it away. I've already told you I'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable I shall never return.
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