Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. “There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself. 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. It will take a month to clean up. . He may die. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. She had no place she loved.
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