A familiar figure was making his way towards them. 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. In length the arch exceeded seventy feet. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner.
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