“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. "And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. I've opened the case of books. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. Courtlaw sat with folded arms.
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