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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. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. ‘As I said, a mistake. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate.
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