But at least it gave her more time. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. She followed the official back into his room. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. "What do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked Jack, as he came up. " He laughed and followed her into the hotel.
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