By the time his story was finished, a knock sounded on the door and it opened to let in Jenkins, the camp marshal.,
Aunt Grenertsen was difficult to talk with—so contrary, somehow, even if not really cross, that it was very tiresome. She wasn’t the least bit like Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, who was always kind and gentle, always pleasant. Oh, dear, no! Aunt Grenertsen wasn’t like Uncle Isaac; far, far from it!,
“Now row away, row as far away as you like. It is perfectly glorious sitting here!”.
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