Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably.
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