Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. “Why should it matter?” he said. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought.
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