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. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. They were familiar but more massive. She did not start for the Imperial College.
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