. ’ He glanced about and saw his quarry holding court at one end of the vast mirrored chamber. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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