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. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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