’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. Such was the terror inspired by Wild's vindictive character, that few durst face him who had given him cause for displeasure. I went to the theatre that night.
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