‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. ’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. " Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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