The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder.
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