Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. “Look round the table,” she said. " "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.
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