She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. ” Anna moved towards the door, but her sister detained her. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak.
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