She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster.
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