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. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. ’ What would you tell her?” “If she asked advice, I should say she wasn’t fit to do anything of the sort. Lucy was silent. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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