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. " McClintock preferred to put it thus. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. There was no rush. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. ‘And if you like, I will tell you why. ’ She sighed. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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