She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. One of the sampans was hailed, and a ropeladder was lowered. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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