“Sir John!” Annabel gasped. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Do you like duck?” “Sure. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast.
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