” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. ‘Word has it that she is English on her father’s side. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. I was his wife. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers.
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