‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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