She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "My head fairly turns round.
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