Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. Their conversation hung. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Wood, and however he might dissent from the latter proposition, he did not deem it expedient to make any reply; and the orator proceeded with his harangue amid the general applause of the assemblage. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door.
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