Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. "Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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