I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. 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. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. Think, ma’am. They even talked about friendship. “Want one?” Michelle deadpanned.
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