It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. Now there is none. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her. But he was not a father one could make much of. " "Others may, if you won't," muttered Jack, retiring. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world.
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