" "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. Mr. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. Come and have lunch with me. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before.
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