. ’ ‘Very true. It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. The lad looked alarmed. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man.
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