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. Give me my pistol and my dagger. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come.
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