“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. Though he never seen so much of Miss Mary as I did. “Go on!” she commanded. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs.
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