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Only her babe died. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. She reloaded. The ladder was now within reach. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. 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. ‘You are there.
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