(What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. Wood in their favour. "I shall like to call you that. Ennison!” He released her. “You will always have to run from normal people and normal life, John. ” But she could not talk freely about love, she found, for all that manumission. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. CHAPTER XVII.
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