His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. But this modern miasma—” Mr. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded.
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