After a while he spoke again. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. He had changed her life dramatically, and she had missed him dreadfully. Life is so good.
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