"Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. ” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. The note-passer lagged behind with her. 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. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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