Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. A stomacher, fastened by imitationdiamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin. "Auntie?" he cried. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me. Come home alone. "Where?" she cried. His statement was treated with derision. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. A dissipated, loose-living man.
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