” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. 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. . “His back was towards me,” Anna said. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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