Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her.
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