Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. 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. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered.
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