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. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. ’ He glanced at Roding.
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