Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. "Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?" said the knight, rising. 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. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. ‘I am sure you will.
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