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. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. She chuckled.
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