The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. 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. . And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away.
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