"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. I don’t know. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. . ” “I knew it,” Ennison exclaimed.
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