Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. John looked at his feet bashfully. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. That’s all about it. , probably tried to become a hooker, I don’t know. 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.
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