" "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born.
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