Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. . . I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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