“I wish he had,” she said. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. It reverberated in the silence. ‘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. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss.
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