Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. ’ ‘Ha! You’re Catholic, too, damn his eyes,’ growled the general. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously.
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