Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. Sydney was watching her eagerly. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. " "Are you ready?" said Trenchard, striding towards the door. “It was poison—why not?” she answered.
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