“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. This way, Sir Rowland. This way, my dear—and— you’ll excuse my mentioning it, but a quiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know, will be quite sufficient.
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