"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. “No I’m not, John. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. Why, Nab, you shake as if you'd got an ague?" he added, turning to the Jew, whose teeth chattered audibly.
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