" "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. Wood in the deepest mourning. You know, Melusine. Spurling. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. Turning, she flew for the nearest door.
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