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Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. He was an odd one, especially for a young man. " "Faix, then we'll do it in style," cried the fellow. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn.
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