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. “Come sit with me, beautiful. Her mother…. I don’t want to bother you, of course. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. ” A sudden sense of the gravity of this thing came home to Anna. "He is all alone. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me.
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