She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. " "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. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified.
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