"You hesitate—you are deceiving me. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. If I had been your companion only, and not your master, I might very well have been content to accept you for what you seem. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book.
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