“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. And in this fact lay his danger.
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