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 knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out.
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