‘Soldier of fortune. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. ‘Yes, I know. “No. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard.
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