There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. She met him by the dugout after the game. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished.
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