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He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. ‘But it is idiot. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. Probably hadn't. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. 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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