Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. He took over, doing his best to rearrange his overly sensitive member back into his pants. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence.
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