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 believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. ” Anna glanced towards her sister, but the latter avoided her eyes.
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