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I can bear anything but suspense. Enchanted. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. ‘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. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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