Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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