Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear.
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