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 isn’t as though I haven’t done well. But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by Jonathan and his janizaries. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. I’m taking no chances.
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