"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door.
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