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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. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. She swallowed hard. I must have been very wound up. " Rambling in this way, the matron at length came to a halt, and taking out a key, pointed to a door and said, "This is Mrs. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. I understand. She shut the door behind her. ’ ‘From a convent? Even if I wished to do it, I could not. . .
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