"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. "In the mean time, with your permission, I'll just make a few minutes of our conversation. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him.
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