A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. ” The man nodded. There was no one to be seen in the great hall. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. ” “But how did you tell him? You’ve never told me. ’ He only laughed.
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