Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. That’s my point. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary.
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