"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. Let me see my child, if he is really here?" "Behold him!" returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. ” “A sort of history,” said Mr. . His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. net/1/5/6/1/15614/ Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Clare Elliott and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
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