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’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return.
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