Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. What is the use of it? I do not wish to marry you. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Wood will protect you," urged Mrs.
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