That was what she was trying to make him understand. 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. She learned quickly, absorbing all she could as quickly as possible as her adoration grew for him. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely.
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