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. ‘But lay him down. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course.
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