She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. . He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. “Your sex is a terrible fraud.
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