She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. Please don’t let any one know that. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. The doctor laughed. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. It'll be your turn to save mine next. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression.
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