He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer. It is to set me right with Winifred. At last, she breathed. His spirits began to rise. ‘You mean there isn’t any evidence of a break-in. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. The major’s hand stilled.
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