"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. ’ ‘You speak it very well,’ Gerald said encouragingly. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. 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.
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