” “Relaxation, perhaps. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. ‘Would that your mistress were as trusting. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. She wrote it down.
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