The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. 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. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. But he was not a father one could make much of.
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