‘Quick, Gérard. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. 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. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects.
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