Ennison,” he said, “it is for you to cut in at Lady Angela’s table. ‘Well, that depends. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed.
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