"O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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