Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. Earles answered, glibly.
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