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The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. 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. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. "These writer chaps are queer birds.
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