“You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know.
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