“I want to find an address. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. Very soon she would be able to forget it. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. " "Willingly," replied Wild. I didn’t know.
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