I overheard what Mr. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. If only this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing; the island would have been wide enough.
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