The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. Nobody toys with me. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister.
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