Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It fell with a clatter to the floor. I did not reckon upon—him. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Wood, the carpenter, who formerly resided here, is still living?" "If you feel any anxiety on his account, Sir, I'm happy to be able to relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. " He opened his eyes again. I want him immediately, so you can send Frith with my phaeton if you like. .
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