"Very well, Mr. F. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table. 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. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded.
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