“I think I ought to have one. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. Epithalamy might do. But for him——” Something in her sister’s tone startled Anna.
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