. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. “Everything will follow,” she said. .
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