I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. 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. Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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