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Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It slid off flimsily. He just wants to get laid. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. He cocked an eyebrow. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. She always dawdled, so it was easy. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. I packed them with the other few things I owned. Nothing is wrong that you do.
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