” She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant.
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