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. As the time when his identity had to be proved approached, this rigour was, in a trifling degree, relaxed, and a few persons were occasionally admitted to the ward, but only in the presence of Austin. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row.
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