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 would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river.
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