The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. 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. "I'm armed; you are not. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket.
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