The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. Never had he been so intrigued. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. ‘Do not beg my pardon. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance.
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