Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Thank you for the books.
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