“I feared we might have a fog. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it.
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