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. "Tush!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired.
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