Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. Lucy stepped inside. " "Well, Sir, his name?" "Jonathan Wild. ’ ‘Leonardo again,’ Gerald muttered and, to her disappointment, dropped her hand. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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