CHAPTER XV. The major’s hand stilled. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. Old London Bridge.
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