She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. A fever of shame ran through her being. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer.
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