Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. 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. ‘Can’t you see he is not a gentleman with whom one can argue?’ ‘You think so?’ Melusine said dangerously, and her eyes flashed as she swept about again and confronted her grandfather once more.
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