I. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. It had been a trying day. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. "She is. ” “You are foolish,” she declared, with a note of irritability in her tone.
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