‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. " "How long have I been in bed?" "A week. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal.
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