‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. ” “And our destinations also, it seems,” she added, smiling. " "You daren't use it. My, um, my curfew. 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.
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