"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. “Go on,” he said. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Dorling said. " Here the chapmen set up another boisterous peal. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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