"I don't know; I really don't know. 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 began to weep in long, aching sobs. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. " "She has suffered enough for you," said Wood. ‘Until today.
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