My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “The smallest will do for me quite well. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. Wood. She saw his finger pull back on the hammer of the gun and shrieked a warning just as Jack launched himself forward and Gosse turned and fired. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. All the same, I don’t admit it. But I'll not believe it of you.
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