Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. " "Ay—ay," laughed Jonathan.
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