” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. She even hit the jackpot in 1952 when she found a photograph in a London issue of Vogue. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell.
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