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. Dolls. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. It would be very good to be Capes’ friend. Give me the books. It felt too good. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy.
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