‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries.
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