” He stroked her hand gently. "There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. You understand.
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