My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. You see, my riddle is solved. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid.
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