It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged.
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