He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. She had been careless. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. "Stir a foot, at your peril. Wily little devil she is.
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