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. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. " "Be still!" returned Jonathan, in the same under tone, and with great selfpossession: "I can yet save you. ” The girl on the lounge drew a long sobbing breath.
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