‘I told you I could handle her. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. The word of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide.
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