"If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. It was hard to meet that gaze. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. He was all alone, like herself. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. "I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild.
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