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” “You and I and Brendon get on all right, don’t we?” Sydney objected. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. ” He laughed. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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