She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. 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. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations.
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