’ ‘You see, I am of them,’ she said seriously, ‘but not with them—yet. “You’re. Well, I've had to be. 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. And then her pace slackened. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
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