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. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink.
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