They are for serving me. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. We married, and for a time we were happy. He’s riding down the drive.
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