“I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. ” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. 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.
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