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. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. .
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