“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. " "Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. . She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine.
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