Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. " "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true. The deafening report froze time. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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