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She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. 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. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. ” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell. God, we suck.

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