He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. “I should like to understand you,” he said. Their eyes met, and his expressed perplexity and curiosity. In the beginning it was a dictionary. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. “Come this way,” he said. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Perhaps I'd better open it now. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Ennison was deeply interested. His tone was rough, almost threatening. She had been careless.
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