That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. He must be gone to dispose of the body. 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. \" Michelle sighed. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own.
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