About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. S. He waved a cordial goodbye. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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