She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. I’m very resourceful, you know. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTI4LjE4Ni4xNCAtIDAyLTA2LTIwMjQgMTA6MzA6NDggLSAxNTA3OTU5MDQ1
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