The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. ’ The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. 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 sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. She knew it. But I'll never part with your irons.
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