So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She could have kissed Cathy. All her questions would have as a background the idea of future defence. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side.
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