Mr. 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. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache.
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