‘So it was. ” “Only you won’t let me live. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “I am frightened now. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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