” Annabel’s hand stole into his. Of course there were goats. ” She brought her knees up to her chest, and rocked back and forth like a small child. 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. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. “That is very nice of you,” she said.
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