He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. ’ ‘Capting Roding wouldn’t never command me to help no Frenchie,’ said the sergeant positively. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned.
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