"I can," replied Trenchard. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating.
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