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. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. "Show me your warrant!" said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "Ask him who he is?" suggested Thames. Then he rallied, smiling a little. \" He said to her as he threw the gear into Park. She still had her letter of credit.
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