"Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. It makes no difference. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother.
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