She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. 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. I speak no harm of her.
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