Yes, this was a little better. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. Things that you and the nuns would not think about for—’ She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. Wood will be here presently. “I want to know who you are. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping.
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