He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. " "Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said Trenchard, sternly,—"to the boy. Look at the poor victim at your feet. ‘Go then. She might even forgive him. " "I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister.
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