‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. She must kill this man, or kill herself. “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. We always go out to dinner on holidays.
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