Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet.
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