" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. Both girls looked pale and listless. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. “No, it was simple.
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