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. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. Deep silences came between them. “Should I leave? Sounds like she is running out of food. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan.
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