\" She rose to leave the kitchen. 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. You might have spared yourself many useless journeys and disappointments, and us a good deal of anxiety. Loneliness. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. ‘There are no Remenhams left. It was after all a momentary affair.
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