I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. ‘You are wise, Marthe. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. It was explosive and gratifying.
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