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. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing.
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