” Anna’s eyes opened a little wider, but she said nothing. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Wiped out, but for these. He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. She became angry with herself. Mr. Wood fancied he recognised. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek.
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