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He knew me, Nigel. "I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked. 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. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. "Put it under my pillow," he said.
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