“You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. You’ve got to adjust yourself to the people God has set about you. 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. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. “You think that this is all.
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