I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. Stanley in person. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape.
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