I swear it. But in a moment, it was tucked under his arm and, raising the pistol again, he gestured towards the door opposite the one where Melusine stood. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes.
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