" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. “I thought much of it amazingly beautiful. I hated the stuff. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. It was as if he could smell it on her. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. I was resolved to see you. ” For a moment or two he did not speak.
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