“I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. ‘Ah, the tragedy. No tricks would serve. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair.
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