It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. Jonathan caught her in his arms. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. ‘For your messenger was obliged instead to come and find Hilary, and it has given me the opportunity to meet you. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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