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” He mumbled, driving on. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Cathy appeared in her bathrobe. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word.
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