They clapped wildly afterward. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically.
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