The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. It shall be done as you direct. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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