"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. . " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Cast off this weakness. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear.
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