"And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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