5. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. Capital swordsman. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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