" "Take hence this boy, then," rejoined Trenchard; "his looks unman me. He kissed her fingers and grinned. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ‘Say it. He told me that he was a millionaire. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. She wanted to kiss his feet.
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