” “But how?” He was, she thought, a little too insistent. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. Wild's. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. He will let you live if it pleases him. ’ ‘I will not.
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