’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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