I thought that he was dead. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. Ennison stood by her side.
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