Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. “Why should it matter?” he said. ’ ‘You were quite as bad to me as I was to you,’ Gerald protested mildly, sitting down beside her.
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