" "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary.
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