” Ennison thought so too half an hour later, when having cut out from one of the bridge tables he settled down for a chat with Annabel. “It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating. You jumped, and I think that you left me. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Plainly. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding.
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