If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. Brown or Jones, I dare say.
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