He pulled down a chair to her left. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England.
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