Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. His eyes were set too close together. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last.
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