It has become a part of the order of my life. Ennison paused by the little gate. “My dear, can you see in this light? I think I would like to get in. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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