“I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison.
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