" "How!" ejaculated Trenchard, starting back and drawing his sword. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below.
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