“He’s got almost to like it. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. This is my last week at the ‘Unusual,’ you know. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Poor little one. " "And you expect me to believe you after what has passed?" "I do; and, more than that, I expect you to thank me. "Gentlemen, a little further off, if you please.
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