"Where to, master?" asked Ben, touching his woollen cap. Not so Gosse. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. "You must make a bold push. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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