" "I am not unprotected," rejoined the poor woman; "there's some one at the window. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. ” Ennison took an easy chair. In the first place, Mrs. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. “What do you mean?” she asked. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. ’ ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him.
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