’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. I decided to go in and wait.
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