"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. And such slight relief as I can afford should have been offered earlier, if I'd known where you'd taken refuge after your unfortunate husband's—" "Execution, you would say, Sir," added Mrs. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. " "Since you require it, I must obey," replied Kneebone; "but prepare yourself for a terrible shock. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured.
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