Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. ‘Damnation! Too late. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table. 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.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 24-06-2024 17:23:44
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