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She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight.
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