“I hope you’re satisfied. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s mouth dropped open. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. He had heard this talk before. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain.
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