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. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. ’ ‘Then Gérard may come back,’ Melusine cried involuntarily on a sudden rising hope. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. . She would ignore him.
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