The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Her moods were many and always striking.
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