" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe.
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