She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Thought she was a nun at first. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. ” Her eyes were lit with humour.
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