She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. But after all, Mrs. Ennison?” Sir John hesitated. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling.
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