“She wasn’t sane, my wife. ‘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. " "When will you want me?"—with pitiful eagerness. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards.
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