"Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. 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. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. ” “How the hell did you learn to play like that?” “Lots of practice, John. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics.
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