Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. It would be swindling. With nobody who cares … the both of us!" He was real in this moment. "You must be a cleverer lad than even I take you for, if you get out of this place. .
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