“You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. I desire, Sir, you'll recollect yourself.
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