" "Those terms were a third of my estate," observed Trenchard bitterly. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. She was interested by the swearing of the witnesses. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. And all the third act is love-sick music.
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