" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. " As he said this, he moved forward a few paces, when, finding his feet glued to the ground by some adhesive substance, he stooped to feel what it was, but instantly withdrew his hand, with an exclamation of horror. It isn’t all. ‘You will take the place of André?’ ‘Exactly so. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. "In wine there is truth. Dead or alive, I'll have him. ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation.
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