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“What are you doing?” he asked. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. ” “Oh. ” She sniffled. ” She played with her hair. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. A bumper round, gentlemen. He became a little less en garde.
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