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. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. The opiate has done its duty. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him.
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