“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Mrs. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders.
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