It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. 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. "I am twenty," said the girl. “I will tell you as much as this,” she continued. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. His manner was deferential, even eager. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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