“Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. " "Don't scold him, father," interposed Thames; "he's been frightened enough already. " CHAPTER XIV. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago.
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