Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. She stared. Priests and princes sought his knowledge of languages and philosophy and wantonly tried to throw themselves into his bed. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. .
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