Stanley took mustard savagely. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style.
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