"If you are human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?" "I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. I am your servitor. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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