CHAPTER XII. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ” “I don’t know who you are,” Ennison said quietly, “but you are a thundering liar. ’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. Then Mr. . “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
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