He gripped the window-sill behind him. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. "Get it over quickly," said Trenchard, in a whisper to the thief-taker. He's a nice boy, a good student. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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