The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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