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. Maggot. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. John did not see her until the last period.
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