" CHAPTER V. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She bent down. . She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation.
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