Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Since Mary predeceased Jarvis, Nicholas could scarcely argue himself to be my brother’s next of kin. "I believe he is conscious," she answered. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. I was looking for rooms last week. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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