A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. 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 still watched her and questioned her. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things.
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