“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss. Anna sent her away.
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