It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. ” He panted. A dressing-room then. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. ” He said as they parted company. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes.
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