"If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. I was worried. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though.
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