She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. “How is that carmine working?” he asked, with a forced interest. " "Dear me!" sympathised Mrs. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. ‘There you have soldiers. The hansom drove off.
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