But that did not stop Trodger, who had ridden up from Kent for the purpose, from detailing every little inspection and sortie that his men had made in their allotted task of watching Remenham House. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close. I'm not hungry.
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