"All's bowman, my covey. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon he would be going upon his way, that there would be no one to depend upon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon her again. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. He was speechless.
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