It was bad luck to go to Canongate. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. A good deal of the food will be in tins.
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