"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. His hot juices coursed into her in quick bursts. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. I am grateful, indeed I am. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess.
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