By the middle of July he was in full health. 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. He was an old, skilled vampire. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. .
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