He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Something in his tone pinched her heart. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says.
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