’ Speeding down the two flights of stairs, Gerald mentally thanked God that it was the practice of himself and Roding—in case of emergency, of which this was a prime example—to stable their horses at the posting inns all the way to London. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. It was the gallows.
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