" "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here.
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