A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. "Is it a bargain?" "Take half of my estate—take all—my life, if you will—I am weary of it!" cried Trenchard passionately. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. “Please have a seat.
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