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‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. . During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary.
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