No offence, I hope. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. "I didn't mean to give offence," replied Sheppard, sulkily.
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