’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. “I will go,” he said. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest.
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