He was looking pale and ill. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I’ll need you to go back to the barracks and fetch more men up to town. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid.
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