Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors.
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