Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison.
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