“I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Wait! No time for that. They both listened intently. Well, what about it?" "I accept. "Shpeak up, vill you?" cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. 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.
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