Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. An ancient smile lay on his lips. Anna sent her away. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. “Mr.
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