She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces.
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