There is Mr. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world.
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