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. ” “And you can’t?” “I don’t think I ought to control myself. Come now, I am very glad to see you again so soon, mademoiselle whatever-your-name-is. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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