" Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Something draws everybody. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly.
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