I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. The militia were in already. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. Ann Veronica listened thoughtfully, with her eyes on the turf, and now and then she asked a question or looked up to discuss a point.
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