I'll tell you something. 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. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. “My God!” he said again. She wanted to kiss his feet. He saw, without any particular regret, that this year he would have to forego the junket; but there would be ample compensation in the study of these queer youngsters.
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