She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. ” Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on the doorstep. “I am going to ignore it. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl.
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