"It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed.
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