‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. I see.
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