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No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. I don’t. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. That is easy. I have never wept since that day. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. They have no ideas what to do with us.
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