"Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. 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. And since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on the slightest inkling of treachery. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. I ought to have gone long ago.
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