I get your side all right. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. There was a very substantial profit in the transaction, for he paid the natives in commodities—coloured cotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, household utensils, cutlery and glass gewgaws. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses.
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