’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. "When I went through your trunk that first night, I discovered an envelope filled with manuscripts. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. There’s no logic in these things.
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