" "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. "Thanks. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play for you. Enschede halted. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. He smiled.
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