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 slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. ” “Ye—e—es. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed.
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