Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. “I didn’t know you objected to him, daddy. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. Let me take the satchel, sir. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. He sent me flowers.
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