The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared.
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