‘Tell me, my boy. Good night. We’re closer than you think. 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. A door slammed. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. Wood, at the top of her voice. ” Anna laughed softly. ” Sebastian exclaimed as her husband nodded his head slowly.
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