Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. I cannot live without you, Anna. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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