No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. It is very bad. Just because I attempt to seek the worst of men to kill, it doesn’t make it right. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. CHAPTER THE FOURTH THE CRISIS Part 1 We left Miss Stanley with Ann Veronica’s fancy dress in her hands and her eyes directed to Ann Veronica’s pseudo-Turkish slippers. Her cheeks were aflame.
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