“But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. " "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack.
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