My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. It was explosive and gratifying. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. . She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. " "Aye!" was McClintock's inaudible affirmative. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight.
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