This is simply a chapter of coincidences. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act. He whispered in her ear. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard.
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