‘Poor Hilary. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. Dollis Hill revisited 324 XII. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. Ennison spoke at last. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. ‘Parbleu, but what a person you make me! One who spies.
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