’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Paris, 18. ’ ‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed. 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.
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