He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows.
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