‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. It’s a thing that’s happened to you. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. But his eyes were on the Frenchman, and as Valade moved up the other road a little way, the lad shifted alertly, and swiftly closed the distance to the intersection.
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