“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris.
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