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. An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. "Thames Darrell only waits my mandate to follow him. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter.
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