S. . Wood uttered something like an imprecation. Again he rushed. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses.
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