He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. It forbids—all sorts of things. Wild in his own domain. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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