" "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. "I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone.
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