The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. When he tried the scullery door, and would have moved on, Hilary intervened. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage.
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