Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged.
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