They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. " "Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards.
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