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‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. But you have not finished surely. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. Death belongs to God, young man. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. "An oath weighs little with me, compared with your safety.
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