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. Go on and tell me. Cut it as short as you can. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack.
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