He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. "Well, it's a good story. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. “He can’t be more than thirty.
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