“It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man.
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