"He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. It was the girl. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. 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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