An ugly flush stained his cheeks. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side.
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