The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. 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. He was human. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm.
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