More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. “How did you find me?” She asked. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Find your man, that’s the rule. But it would be too risky. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do.
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