A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her. You women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. Then suddenly the curtain would fall. 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. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad.
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