” “You mean to say,” Anna said slowly, “that you are going to leave your husband?” “Yes. ‘I know that, miss. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. 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 became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo.
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