She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Lucy stood in front of the piano.
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