"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. How much Mary knew is a mystery. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. They are born idiots, incurably insane. But, being pushed forward by his subordinate officer, he was compelled to make a stand. .
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