207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. ” She said. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. "Women are always balling up and muddling clean cases. 5.
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