She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. "Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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