Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work.
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