Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. He was in the house with his mother. Well, I don't blame you on that ground. He drew a little breath and stepped back. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended.
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