Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth.
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