“It’s either now or never,” said Ann Veronica, again ascending this stile. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes.
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