Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. 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 neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly.
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