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‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. The mode of destruction makes no difference. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering.
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