She recoiled. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. But his own situation was too perilous to admit of his rendering any assistance to the ill-fated waterman. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. 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. ’ Gerald tutted.
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