’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. His last actions were futile. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute.
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