Sheppard. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. . His voice now had lost its ironies. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. With all your cunning, we're more than a match for you. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened.
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