“It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. You know what's what. “For I know that you love Ennison. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. “I must explain to her. Have you got someone in mind for me?" "Finish your breakfast and I'll tell you the story.
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