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. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. Never really thought about Him—people don’t. "I am come to render you a service.
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