When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard.
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