The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. "I had no hand in the affair," replied Jackson, bluntly; "but I know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock.
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