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. The service began. She thought of her costume in some detail and with considerable satisfaction, and particularly of a very jolly property dagger with large glass jewels in the handle, that reposed in a drawer in her room. Manning questioned whether when they were bad they were really beautiful or when they were beautiful bad. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. I made her my unwilling confederate. ‘Now then, girl.
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