She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. 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. ’ She paused, struggling for the word. " "What do you mean?" asked the female, in astonishment. "Under the table. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me.
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