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. He had found Spurlock. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife.
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