"A storm!" exclaimed the landlord. Drink the toast, Jack. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. 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. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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