” “At any rate,” she declared, “your remarks decided me. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Death belongs to God, young man. She seemed honestly glad to see him. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. The end of the world seemed at hand. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. "Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy.
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