CHAPTER XIII. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. ” “Will you tell me,” Sir John said ponderously, “by what right you call that young lady—la petite Pellissier? I should be glad to know how you dare to allude to her in a public place in such a disrespectful manner!” Drummond looked at him and smiled.
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