" "Give me an acquittance," said Trenchard. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. "It is your son. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. ‘I know, Melusine. 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.
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