Her gratitude swelled within her. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. There you will be, in an inner temple. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. “I’m sorry.
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