Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year.
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