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Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. The service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone.
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