‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. Not a word passed between them. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. You're a queer lad. So Mrs.
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