Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. First, look at this glove. Jack, to the surprise of all his companions, at once surrendered himself: but Blueskin would have made a fierce resistance, and attempted a rescue if he had not been ordered by his leader to desist.
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