Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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