No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. Fas du tout. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone.
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