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‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. ” “That is why they hissed me, then?” “Of course. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. ” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica.
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