Easy enough. 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. He can't be far off. "You won't refuse it, Mr. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. Suspicion was in his face. At least here she was safe. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you.
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