It just made me mad to the boiling point. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. We know London, and you are a stranger here. Mrs. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. CHAPTER II. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips.
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