They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow.
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