"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?” The girl shook her head.
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