‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. Sheppard.
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