The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. "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. Sepulchre's church. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. Until the age of five she adored him. You know what's what.
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