For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. "I'd lay down my life for yours. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery.
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