"He is all alone. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Her head ached with a hollow pain. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry.
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