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They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. Still, his robust frame enabled him to hold out. 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. I'll send you word when I catch him. ‘She ought to be. ’ For the first time since she had heard the news, Mrs Sindlesham’s features relaxed and a tiny smile appeared.
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