But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top. ‘Very inventive. ‘Certainly I can prove it.
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