‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a growl in her ear as they headed for the door. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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