Spurling. "No matter. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Charvill’s fury was burning out. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction.
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