CHAPTER IV. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. It throbs cruelly. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who goaded me to so much violence.
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