She had never heard anything so unholy. " "So am I. ’ ‘But two letters,’ put in the woman. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. 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. Long ago.
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