“I wish. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. It tore her apart. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw.
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