" "Why not?" rejoined Mrs. Wild," said Trenchard, "I shall proceed no further in this business. You will be—my wife. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol.
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