” Anna’s eyes were a little dim as she poured out her coffee, and the laugh she attempted was not altogether a success. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. ‘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.
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