Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. ” Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. His literary instincts began to stir. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.
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