You're in luck to-night, widow. Do take them away from me after I have had four. 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. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. It fits your style. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom.
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