‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. To stop her, Sebastian slapped her face and nearly dislocated her jaw. 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. "I beg pardon," he said. It was an impulse.
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