And let ush go back to our brandewyn, and hollandsche genever. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. Sepulchre's church, and hurrying down Snow Hill, darted into the first turning on the left. The door was then locked, and he was left alone. 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. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears.
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