Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth. ’ ‘I still think you ought to have waited, miss. .
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