He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough.
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