Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit.
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