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. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. \" He rose and departed. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile.
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