The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. .
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