He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. "I must tell you," she was saying. Mischief bubbled up in her. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. ’ ‘Precisely. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. ’ Gerald tutted.
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