He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. She hesitated about her name, and, being prompted, gave it at last as Ann Veronica Smith, 107A, Chancery Lane.
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