"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. ’ ‘We had other matters on hand this morning,’ Roding told him sharply. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light.
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