His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. . " Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. 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. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. " He approached the bed and laid his palm on the patient's forehead, and nodded. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily.
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