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. “I have learned that. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining.
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