‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss. .
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