Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. ” “Yes, but you forget; how am I to live?” “Easily. Just an idea of mine. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. Clergymen were human.
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