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 winked at him as he shut the door. He must be gone to dispose of the body. \" Michelle smiled, \"I know who you are. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. She thought me— filthy. ” He crossed his arms.
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