On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. His figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. "But I can guess what it's for. 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. Pierre. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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