Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. ” “Only you won’t let me live. And I want you for myself—for my wife. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. ” “That’s if we succeed. I don't want her hurt. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. Moreover, she claims that this whole enterprise of hers is purely for the purpose of marrying an Englishman.
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