Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. Giles's, and other places—but I've nowhere seen any one who came up so completely to my notion of a first-rate housebreaker as the individual before us. ‘Looks like it. I knew where I would go next: Florence. I don’t care. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. His tone was rough, almost threatening. And so, here we are, right back from where we started. It was a purse. The next morning came a compact letter from her father.
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