All seemed infected with Austin's terrors except Mrs. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. She crushed the letter in her hand. It was instantly answered by the deep note of St. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Your adoptive father understands mankind better. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it.
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