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She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow.
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