Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. No matter. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. Posts were offered to all who chose to accept them.
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