“And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Here you only waste your time. ‘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 was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. He came over to me. “Let’s hope your successor is worthy of you. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. White calls them. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey.
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