"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. I don’t want to know. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Yet I shall think of you to-day. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. You shall hear from me to-morrow. Until the age of five she adored him. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is.
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