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. ‘Must be still downstairs. Charcoal. She looked stealthily at Anna. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. Prudence reminded him that he was a county magistrate, and parliamentary candidate for a somewhat difficult borough, where his principal supporters were dissenters of strict principles who took a zealous interest in his moral character.
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