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. All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said. She fled. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. “I just came to you and put myself in your hands. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken.
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