Her head swam. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. Anybody in pain had only to call to him. Take me with you. " "Others may, if you won't," muttered Jack, retiring.
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