Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. 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. But this only incensed the assailing party the more. The pistol was lowered slightly.
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