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He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. But he wrote on. McClintock. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. But come, sir.
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