“I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. " "But, goodness me, the hotel will take care of him! Why not? They sold him the poison. . ” She grinned. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully.
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