\"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment.
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