They were loath to admit to the public that the case would be closed in a few years for sheer lack of forensic evidence. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. “How are you feeling?” She asked with grave concern in her voice. “No, I’m fine. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. " "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin.
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