Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. Wait a moment. " "Poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily.
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