Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. Wood. 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. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb.
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