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. You have betrayed me. He hadn't patrolled old Pell Street as a plain clothes man without getting a glimmer of the ancient truth that East is East and West is West. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. She gurgled.
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