Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. “Mean as an old mule, too. She shuddered. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake.
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