"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. He had been back for two weeks during some pleasant weather in July. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked.
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