"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. "Your son," answered the boy. . Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face.
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