"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. 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 then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. "Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. \"I'm not hungry either, I'm still worked up from that game.
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