Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. He made a note of the idea and stored it away.
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