There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. ‘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. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood.
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