He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. 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. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor.
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