Sir John hesitated. “I shot him. "Bah!" cried Jack, contemptuously; "nobody's disgraced and ruined unless he's found out. "I've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing of him or his wives. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ’ ‘Useful certainly. 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.
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