‘What is it?’ asked Roding. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Mr. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. 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. ‘Now then, girl. A lucky escape. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. 8. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order.
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