Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. .
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