“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. It probably still wouldn’t help. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was.
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