"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. "I'm prudence personified. " "Pity!" shrieked the widow. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. .
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