The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. I had that coming. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out.
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