It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. It’s 180 endearing. " Jonathan hastily picked up the pen, and presented it to Trenchard, who attached his signature to the document. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out.
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