‘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. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then.
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