Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. He thought it best to let the matter drop. ‘But a week and some days,’ answered Valade. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. An ancient smile lay on his lips. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Then he got up and left her.
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